The Exiled Queen

by Cinda Williams Chima

  A memory came to her, that day in the western Spirits when they’d been attacked by Sloat and his renegades. She’d stood hidden in the woods, watching Amon work out with his staff. He’d turned as if he’d sensed her presence, and said, “Rai?”

  And earlier today, when she’d been spying in the window, he’d turned and looked at her.

  It was suddenly hot in the upstairs room. Raisa slid off her bed and went to throw open the shutters. Then came and sat down on the edge of the hearth.

  “Well. Thank you for telling me this. Finally. I still don’t see how it relates to—”

  “A match between us is a danger to the line,” Amon said. “That’s how it relates.”

  “That—that—that’s not true,” Raisa stammered. “It can’t be.” And then, when he said nothing, added, “What makes you think so?”

  “Ever since the ceremony, if we — if we kiss, or if I’m tempted to —” He threw up his hands. “I’m warned away. Prevented.”

  “Warned away? You mean — you mean by magic?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happens?” Raisa asked sarcastically. “Does lightning strike, or—”

  “I feel sick and dizzy. Then excruciating pain. I feel faint. And — I have to stop.” He shrugged.

  “When has this happened?” Raisa asked.

  “Well, that time on the road, when we were sharing a tent, and you — ah — rolled onto me. And then when we kissed, right before Sloat and his bunch showed up.”

  Thinking back, she remembered Amon’s response both times. He’d actually looked ill—pale and perspiring, gasping for breath.

  “How do you know it’s not your own scruples at work?” Raisa said. “Maybe it’s not the line at risk, but the vaunted Byrne honor. You know that love between us is forbidden, so —”

  “You think I’m lying?” Amon drew his dark brows together. “You think this is some kind of scheme to put you off?”

  “If you are, there’s an easier way,” Raisa said. “Just tell me you don’t love me, and I’ll let the matter drop.”

  “What?”

  “What I said. Just say, ‘Rai, I don’t love you and I never will.’ It’s that simple.”

  “Raisa, this is getting us nowhere.”

  “Say it!”

  Amon raked his hand over his head, and his hair flopped back down on his forehead. Pushing up from his seat, he began pacing back and forth.

  “Well?”

  Amon kept pacing, like a fox in a box trap.

  “Will you sit down? You’re making me edgy.”

  Amon came back and sat down next to her. Staring down at the floor, he mumbled, “I can’t say it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s not true.” He looked up at her, tears pooling in his eyes, his voice ragged and barely audible. “I do love you, Rai. I wish I didn’t, but I do. Are you satisfied? Does that make it better or worse?”

  Raisa was momentarily speechless.

  “Oh,” she finally said, in a small voice. They sat side by side but not touching, lost in their own thoughts. Across the river, the temple tower clock bonged once.

  “Why didn’t you tell me before?” Raisa said through numb lips.

  Amon rubbed away tears with his thumb and forefinger. “About the magical barrier or about loving you?”

  “Well. Both.”

  “No one ever tells the queens about the magical part,” Amon said. “Only Hanalea knew, because she started it. Though we link to an individual, we’re really linking to the line.” Amon shifted his gaze to Raisa. “There may be times that we act against the interest of an individual queen to preserve the line.”

  Which would make him a traitor of sorts to an individual queen, Raisa thought.

  “Why did you tell me, then?” Raisa asked. “After all these generations?”

  “Well, as you said, a new day,” Amon said. “We’re both breaking the rules. But mostly because you’re so bloody persistent. I thought if I ignored you and avoided you, you’d give up and find someone else.”

  “I won’t accept this,” Raisa said. “There has to be a way around it. You are not allowed to marry someone you don’t love. I forbid it.”

  “I have to marry, Your Highness. And so do you.”

  To continue the bloody line, Raisa thought. “What about Lydia? She’s married.”

  “She doesn’t have children yet,” Amon said. “There’s no one in the next generation to take over, when I —”

  Raisa’s breath caught in her throat as the realization struck her. She turned to glare at Amon. “Your father did this on purpose, to keep us apart. He knew we’d be traveling together to Oden’s Ford, and he knew the temptation would be too great.”

  Amon’s eyes said yes, even though he didn’t say it aloud. “Whatever he did, he did it for the line,” Amon said. “That’s what he’s committed to, more than family, more than anything else.”

  “I hate your father,” Raisa said through stiff lips. “I’ll never, never, ever forgive him. He had no right to make that decision for us.”

  They sat glumly staring at the floor for a while.

  “Listen,” Raisa said. “Let’s try it. Kissing, I mean. Like an experiment.”

  “This is hard enough already,” Amon said. “What do you think this has been like for me? I’m flesh and blood, you know.”

  “Just this time. Please. I am not going to give you up without a fight. Maybe what happened before was a coincidence. Or maybe it had to do with that particular situation. The danger to the line was probably Sloat, and not anything to do with us.”

  Amon sighed. After a long pause, he nodded. “You’re right. I guess we’ll never know if we don’t try it. Maybe something’s changed.”

  Raisa turned to face him. Amon’s expression mingled wariness and hope. She extended her hand and cupped it under his chin, now rough with early morning stubble. She felt him swallow.

  Leaning forward, she pressed her lips against his, gently at first, then more firmly. She reached her other hand around his neck and pulled him closer, fingering the cropped hair on the back of his neck, tracing the bone and muscle there. She pressed against him, feeling his heart accelerate against her chest.

  He slid his arms around her, pulled her tight against him in a desperate embrace.

  Something rippled between them, and Amon began to tremble. A violent shudder went through him, then another. He broke away and doubled over, clutching at his middle. Sliding sideways to the floor, he lay there writhing and gasping for breath.

  “What’s the matter?” Raisa said, though she already knew.

  “Blood of the demon,” he whispered. He raised his arms, covering his throat as if to ward off unseen attackers.

  “Amon!” Raisa knelt beside him, pressing her hand to his forehead. It was clammy and cold, pebbled with sweat. “N—no,” Amon said, turning his head from side to side, dislodging her hand. “I’m sorry. Don’t — touch me. Please.”

  Raisa snatched her hand away, and Amon doubled up in misery, moaning, “Sweet Hanalea, forgive me,” he cried, his face contorted in agony, tears seeping from the corners of his eyes. Convulsions rolled through him like waves breaking on a steep shoreline. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  Raisa ran and pulled her pillow from the bed and tucked it behind him so he wouldn’t smash against the brick hearth. She covered him with her cloak, because now he seemed to be shivering.

  Gradually, the seizure eased. Amon’s body relaxed, his eyes fluttered shut, and he slept.

  Raisa put another log on the grate and sat with her back to the fire, close to Amon but not touching him, watching him sleep. She felt cold and numb except for a dull ache under her breastbone, and her eyes were finally dry.

  The new dawn found the princess heir awake, exhausted, and completely empty of dreams.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  A VERMIN

  PROBLEM

  A few weeks after Han’s first meeting with Abela
rd’s group, Han and Dancer walked back to the dormitory after supper.

  Dancer sat down at his worktable and opened up one of Firesmith’s books. Spools of gold wire, bars of silver, and semiprecious stones surrounded him. He’d spent a trunkload of money on flash materials. It was good they’d managed to sell off their trade goods at the markets.

  Han pulled out his journal and looked over the notes he’d scribbled down from his sessions with Crow. He didn’t want to be caught unprepared. He wished he could take notes in the dreamworld and carry them back with him. Maybe he’d ask Crow about it.

  “You meeting with Crow again?” Dancer asked, reeling wire off spools and braiding it together. He made no attempt to hide his disapproval.

  “I don’t have a choice,” Han said. “I’m learning a lot. You know that.” Han always shared what he learned with Dancer.

  “If any of it works,” Dancer said. “Those charms you used on the Bayars—has anything come of that?”

  Han shrugged. “I haven’t heard anything. But at least I got in and out of their rooms without a hitch.” He’d waited till darkman’s hour, then ghosted down to the second floor. Disabling their protective charms using Crow’s instructions, he slipped into their rooms and took hair clippings in order to anchor his charms to them.

  “I’d think between your regular classes and what you’re getting from Abelard, you’d have more than enough to do,” Dancer said.

  “You must be stuffed full of knowledge by now.”

  “You should talk,” Han said, gesturing at Dancer’s project. “You spend all your spare time on flash, and holed up with Firesmith.”

  “At least I know who Firesmith is,” Dancer said. “And I don’t have to go to Aediion to meet with him.” He shook his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Just then they heard someone clumping up the stairs.

  “Blevins,” Han said.

  Dancer tossed a blanket over his metalsmithing equipment.

  The dorm master’s head and shoulders appeared in the open stairwell. He glared around, struggling to catch his breath. One good thing about being on the fourth floor was that Blevins never came up there unless he absolutely had to.

  “What’s all this furniture doing on the landing?” he demanded, waving at the little common area they’d created.

  “We’re airing it out,” Dancer said.

  “Hmpfh,” Blevins grunted. “They an’t filled with vermin, are they?”

  “Vermin?” Dancer raised his eyebrows. “Why do you ask?”

  “Seems we have a vermin problem on the second floor,” Blevins said. “Three of the rooms is infested with rats and mice. Every time I think we got them cleared out, a whole flood shows up again. They must be coming from somewhere.”

  “It can’t be just three rooms,” Han said, careful not to look at Dancer. “You see one mouse, you know you got a problem everywhere.”

  “Them boys must be doing something to attract them is all I can say,” Blevins muttered. “I moved them into different rooms while I was trying to smoke ’em out of theirs, and the critters followed ’em like a swarm of bees.”

  “Who?” Dancer asked Blevins, with a puzzled frown. “What boys?”

  “Newling Bayar and the Mander brothers. They been trouble from the day they moved in. Always demanding this and that, never satisfied. Now this.”

  “Before you know it, we’ll be infested,” Han said, making a face. “If they’re the cause, couldn’t you move them out of this dormitory?”

  Blevins rubbed his chin. “Well, there’s some rooms opened up elsewhere, now some newlings have washed out. I’d love to be rid of them. But who’d take ’em?”

  “Maybe you don’t have to mention their—ah—problem,” Han said.

  Dancer still wore his trader face, though the corners of his mouth twitched. “I’d sleep better if I knew they were gone,” he said. “I can’t abide mice and rats.”

  The next day Han returned to Hampton to find Micah and his cousins in the process of moving out of the dormitory. Han paused at the edge of the quad and watched. Even at that distance he could see that Arkeda and Miphis were covered in large red pustules, as if they’d caught some virulent disease. Micah’s complexion was clean and clear, however.

  Han smiled at their predictability.

  When Micah spotted Han, he set down his belongings and strode toward him, his cloak kiting behind him. Han broadened his stance and waited, arms folded.

  “I’m moving out,” Micah said. “We’ve arranged better quarters elsewhere.”

  “I see that,” Han said. He nodded toward the Mander brothers. “Please. Take the vermin with you.”

  Micah flushed angrily. “Leontus managed to disable whatever hedge-witch hex you used. He said he’d never seen anything like it. I went to the dean and told her you had to be behind it, and she demanded proof.”

  “She wouldn’t take your word for it?” Han shook his head. “I’m amazed.”

  “Instead of expelling you, Abelard warned me not to touch you,” Micah said. “She said that if you came to any harm, I would be expelled. What did you tell her? Why would she side with you?”

  Han shrugged. “Maybe she doesn’t think I’m capable of hexing you, being gutter-whelped and all.”

  “At least I fight my own battles, Alister,” Micah said.

  “Really? And exactly why did you go cackling to the dean?” Han gestured toward the poxy Manders, who stood well out of reach, staring at them. “You didn’t send your cousins on an errand last night while Dancer and I were out? They look—I don’t know—guilty to me. Maybe they won’t be so eager to follow orders next time.”

  “Do you think this is some kind of joke?” Micah said. “Whatever you’re trying to accomplish, you can’t win.”

  “I’m not joking,” Han said. “I am absolutely serious. And I am going to win.”

  It seemed like Bayar was going to say more, but he looked up and saw Cat walking across the quad toward them.

  Turning on his heel, Micah strode back to the dormitory, retrieved his belongings, and followed his cousins.

  Cat grabbed Han’s arm. “What happened?” she demanded, her fingers biting into Han’s flesh. “What did Bayar want? What did he say?”

  “He’s moving out,” Han said, seeing no reason to get into it. “That’s all.” He smiled at her. “How was your recital?” he asked. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Cat said, gazing after Micah. “None of it does.” And she walked away, shoulders slumped as if she carried the weight of the world.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  THE WAKING

  DREAM

  Han fingered his amulet, his mind picking over the words of the charm.

  “Well?” Crow stood, arms folded, tapping his foot impatiently. “Are you going to try it again or not?”

  “I’m getting low,” Han said. “Maybe I better try it after I cross back.”

  “If I don’t see you do it, then how will I know you’ve done it right?” Crow said. “It’s not safe for you to experiment unsupervised. Now, if you don’t have the stamina for it, then —” He shrugged.

  “Is that all you know? Attack charms? Shoulder taps and nasties? I feel like I’m stuffed full of them.” Some days it made Han want to scrub out his insides.

  Crow rolled his eyes. “What other kinds of charms do you want to learn?”

  Han cast about for an alternative. “I don’t know—love charms?”

  Crow appraised him, head tilted. “Surely you have no trouble meeting your physical needs, Alister,” he said. “Anything beyond that is illusion—a fable sold to fools and romantics.”

  Han raised his eyebrows. “You are a cynical cove, you know that?”

  “Look,” Crow said, his chilly blue eyes fixed on Han. “You must prioritize. Aerie House will come after you again. They will keep coming until you resolve this issue permanently.”

  “The vermin charm worked,” Han
said. “Micah Bayar and his cousins moved into a different dormitory.”

  “Of course it worked, Alister,” Crow said. “I just quarrel with your choice of tactics. You do not respond to an attempt on your life with a slap on the hand. Or a joke.” He closed his eyes, collecting himself. “I don’t think you truly apprehend the danger you’re in. I’ve invested too much time in you already. I don’t want to start over with someone else.”

  “I know what I’m doing,” Han said. “I just need them to stay out of my way.”

  Crow folded his arms. “You can’t afford to be fastidious.”

  It’s not that, Han wanted to say. I’ve killed before. And it was up close and personal and messy and necessary. I didn’t leave a magical trap for my enemies that hushed them clean and neat when I was far away.

  When Han didn’t respond, Crow went on. “They an’t going to ever leave you alone, you know, as long as you hold the amulet. And when the Bayars murder you, it an’t going to be my fault.”

  “I’m looking for a teacher, all right?” Han said, irritated by Crow’s needling. “But it an’t—isn’t that easy to find one.” He didn’t want anyone at Mystwerk to know he was taking blueblood lessons. It wasn’t like he had any real friends beyond Dancer and Cat.

  To change the subject, Han said, “What do you know about the Armory of the Gifted Kings?”

  Crow gazed at Han, expressionless. “Why do you ask?” he said finally.

  “We talked about it in class. Do you think it actually existed?”

  Crow shrugged, fussing with his double-buttoned cuffs. “I am convinced that it once existed. Whether it still does is open to question.”

  “Some people say the Bayars have it,” Han said.

  “Some people are fools,” Crow said. “If the Bayars held the armory, there would be no opposing them.”

  “I think they’re looking for it,” Han said, watching for Crow’s reaction.

  Crow’s gaze flicked to Han’s amulet, then back to his face. “If so, we’d better hope they don’t find it,” he said.